


I Did Not Ask for This

by BlasphemousBalderdash



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, Doctor Jaeger pls no, Jean's papa is also an OC, M/M, OC is just Marco's mum, Original Character(s), Rating May Change, Warnings May Change, gross boys making out, kiss kiss fall and fucking crush your boyfriend, uhh.. descriptions of getting vaccinations so like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousBalderdash/pseuds/BlasphemousBalderdash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know those forms you've gotta fill out when you transfer over to a new doctor? Those that ask you if you've been smoking or drinking, or if you've had weird headaches or rashes lately, or if you've got some outstanding medical condition that they should know about? Filling those out is pretty necessary, I get it, but...<br/>In that moment, with my mother gazing at me intently when I'd subconsciously cleared my throat and hesitated for a few seconds too many over one particular question, I'd never held more fear towards a packet of paper in my entire life.</p><p>"Have you engaged in any sexual activities within the past thirty (30) days?" It read.</p><p>[Or, the one where Marco goes to get a check up and experiences severe humiliation.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Marco Decides to Leave Town

**Author's Note:**

> in which i suck at summaries and writing  
> this is probably a terrible idea but i'm running with it on a whim bc i thought of this earlier and the idea would not leave me alone at all  
> my hc Mama Bodt that i just came up with right now is a small freckled Irish woman do not touch me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rest in pepperonis Marco Florian Bodt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm still alive and i revisited some portions of this chapter because i promised a friend i'd come back to finish this fic if he wrote a sequel to his own fic
> 
> yes i am aware it's been almost two years since my last update. i am sorry,,
> 
> the gist of the chapter is the same. i made some revisions, fixed some typos, i'm (still) working on fixing continuity errors, and i added a few extra paragraphs.
> 
> chapter 2 will be revisited very soon

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have decided to sign up for a sport this year. Athletics have always been a big deal for me, as have academics and other extracurricular activities, but it probably wouldn't have hurt to put off trying out for the football team until college or something.

But now that I think about it, it's probably not the whole trying out thing that could've waited, but rather... Myself. Yeah. It's my fault. I could've avoided this, had I been determined enough to wait.

I'm not one to curse, not even in my internal monologues, but I believe that it's entirely merited at a time like this.

_ Shit. _

* * *

 

"Marco! Hurry up; we've got to be at the doctor's clinic in twenty minutes, and if we don't leave  _ now _ , we're going to miss our appointment!"

_ Oh geez. _

"Jean, I've got to go. Ma's callin' me." I cringe and scramble to shove my feet into my untied shoes under my desk.

“Aight, but consider my proposal.” The dork on my computer screen flips his hair dramatically and winks at me. What a nerd. I love him.

“Nothin’ to consider. I’ll head over after the check-up; I’ll ask Ma later. I shouldn’t be more than an hour and a half, tops.” I say, using the little video feed of myself down in the corner of the screen as my mirror to make sure I look decent. Oh, that’s right; I was gonna ask Jean if he wanted me to bring him anything from a restaurant on the way to his place. Before I can ask though, my train of thought is interrupted by a flood of very loud Gaelic curses and angry stomps somewhere near the stairs.

_ OH GEEEZ. _

“I-I’ve gotta go.” I wheeze before I sprint out the room before my mother comes up and drags me down by the ears. I tumble down the stairs two at a time, jumping down the last few feet and nearly killing myself on the hardwood floor. 

Mom shakes her head at me, her curly strawberry blond hair bouncing as she clip clops out the door. She's a tiny woman, even with her heels on, and it's very apparent that I've got most of my traits from my father: his height, his square jaw, his broad shoulders. All the makings of a typical Bodt. The Reilly in me is mostly that;  _ in  _ me, but only people who've observed my mother and I in the same room for long enough have been able to pinpoint them. Of course, the heavy smattering of freckles we both don is an easy-to-spot similarity.

Mama clicks her tongue impatiently and honks her horn at me (when did she even get in the car??), waking me from my slight daze. Right. Lock the front door. Get in the passenger seat. Shut the car door. I've got a doctor's appointment today at a new clinic. The athletic packet I need to fill out to sign up for football says that I need to have a doctor check up form stapled to it. I can't try out for football without bringing in an athletic packet.  _ Get your head in the game, Marco. _

I put on my seatbelt and turn to look at the frazzled woman beside me, leaning to give her a peck on the cheek. The stressed lines between her eyebrows are finally disappearing. "Thank you for taking me, Mamaí."

As predicted, she's losing the tight-lipped grimace and desperation in her eyes. She lets out a soft stream of air, presumably a mildly exasperated sigh. The busy real estate agent I call my mother postponed an appointment with one of her clients to take me across town (I insisted that I could take a bus or get a ride from a friend, but she wouldn't have that), and we were running late because I procrastinated on the computer as long as possibly could instead of actually getting ready to leave. I'll definitely make it up to her later. At a red light she turns and gives my shoulder a gentle nudge.

"Of course, stóirín. I know how important this is to you." Her hand comes up to ruffle my already-mussed up hair and I lean into her touch. "Just don't give your mother such a headache next time, okay? At this rate, I'm going to end up going to get a check up too so the doctor can prescribe me medicine for all the migraines you give me!"

I protest halfheartedly and she laughs. My mission to dissipate the tension in the car was successful. Excellent.

The rest of the car ride went by rather uneventfully and consisted of not much other than small talk and pointing out potential drive-thru’s for after the check up. Traffic was rather light considering we were nearing the downtown area of Trost, and thanks to that, we ended up three minutes early. Still, I knew better than to point that out to my mom. I'm too young to die by Angry Mom Glare Daggers™.

Instead we simply continued our discussion on whether or not we should save Dad curly fries if we happened to stop by Rally's later as we walked into Dr. Jaeger’s clinic. Mom abruptly cut off my argument that I'm a growing teenage boy who needs curly fries to survive with a joyful "Carla!"

The receptionist looked up from whatever she'd been busy typing on her computer, a wide smile quickly gracing her pretty face. "Coleen!"

I took their flurried greetings and chipper exclamations of happiness at seeing each other as my cue to sit down and fiddle with my phone. Mrs. Jaeger and my mom have been good friends ever since they met at the same family planning facility, though my mother had already had me, and Carla Jaeger was still carrying Eren. Needless to say, their son and I grew up close, and he'd been the one to suggest that I come to his father's office for my check-up since he's already gotten his over with and turned in his own athletic packet.

Having a childhood in which he was such a prominent figure, at least until Mikasa and Armin came into the picture, trained me to have quite the tolerant and accepting personality. I've grown accustomed to such abrasive and volatile moods from the hyperactive brunette, and that's probably why I've been able to handle all the negativity sent my way by Jean from the very beginning.

_ Jean.. _ The mere thought of that dork's probably brought some goofy smile onto my face. I remember how much drama we went through during the entirety our freshman year when we had our  _ AM I GAY _ scares after a field trip in which we'd found we were far too comfortable holding hands, though I'm a bit ashamed to admit that he took it in stride whereas I definitely panicked. It took months, as well as all my closest friends' efforts to drag me out of my own mental closet (and to accept that yes, I am full homo, not just a little homo). Unfortunately, while _ they _ know, I still haven't come out to my parents. I'd rather wait for the right moment to tell them. I'm not afraid that they won't accept me, but of the fact that they'll want to know all about my dating life and they'll probably piece together..  _ Things. _

Honestly, I'm a bit surprised they haven't figured it out already. Maybe they have, but they haven't said anything because they don't want me to know that they know. Or maybe one of them knows but they haven’t told the other one because then the other one will tell me that they both know.

Or something. 

At some point during my internal puzzling, my mother hands me a clipboard passed on by her raven-haired friend and I had to cease my futile attempts to score higher than Jean’s 22 in the Messenger basketball game to give it a read-over. She's stopped talking to Mrs. Jaeger, so now she's sitting by me reading some magazine she picked up off the little table beside her. I stuff my phone back into my pocket and look back at the clipboard in my lap, grabbing the pen tied to the little hole at the top with a length of string. It's just like doing any old stack of paperwork; a monotonous process that doesn't require much conscious effort. I've finished the first page and moved on to the second one by the time I actually decide to pay closer attention to what I'm filling out.

It's one of those typical patient packets. One of those forms everyone’s gotta fill out when they transfer over to a new doctor. Those that ask if you've been smoking or drinking, or if you've had weird headaches or rashes lately, or if you've got some outstanding medical condition that they should know about. Filling those out is pretty standard. It’s necessary. I get it, but... 

In that moment, with my mother gazing at me intently because I subconsciously cleared my throat and hesitated for a few seconds too many over one particular question, I'd never held more fear towards a packet of paper in my entire life.

_ "Have you engaged in any sexual activities within the past thirty (30) days?"  _ It read.

_ Shit. _

All of a sudden I've become hyper aware of the clamminess of my hands, the loud clacking of nimble fingers on a keyboard, the muffled pounding in my chest, and my mother's soft breathing. I'm not breathing. I'm actually consciously resisting the urge to fling the offending papers across the room and sprint like a madman to avoid my mother's questioning look. Instead of screaming, I cross my right leg over my left, prop the clipboard up, hunch over, and block as much of the checklist as I can while still retaining my ability to continue filling it out. For a while I consider just circling the N for "no," but it probably wouldn't be a good idea to lie to the doctor about this kind of thing.

The rest of the paper's invasive questions go by in a static haze in my brain as I try my best simply to hurry up and finish before Mom asks why I look so conspicuous. I don't want to risk looking up at her at all, so I can't check to see if she’s still staring me down or if she decided not to pay me any more mind. Maybe I’m freaking out over nothing at all. I don't even know.

After what feels like an eternity (but was in actuality probably only around 10 seconds), I'm on my feet and handing the clipboard to a preoccupied Carla Jaeger, who takes it without so much as a single glance at my face. Good. I have no idea what expression I'm wearing on my face right now, but people often tell me I'm an open book. If that's the case, anybody with a single shred of knowledge on the connotations of different facial expressions would be able to tell that I’m experiencing extreme discomfort. I pluck my phone out of my pocket to check my reflection with the front-facing camera, noting that rather than looking flushed, I'm about as pale as Jean's sweet white a--Woah there, Cowboy; let's not go there!

Surely there are better analogies to make for "white" rather than "a place where the sun don't shine," but with my heart threatening to burst from its cage nestled too snugly in my chest, only a handful come to mind. Two handfuls, to be precise--Nope! Stop it, Eager McBeaver! Bad, very bad!

I'm not usually this much of a perv, but this silly wave of panic is rendering me dazed and unaware of what exactly is being said to me. My head’s bobbing up and down or left and right on autopilot in response to the receptionist's occasional inquiries while all my mind's eye is offering me is the utter beauty that is Jean Kirschtein. His lewd moans and sweet little (and not so little) cries of ecstasy, the way he writhed and squirmed beneath me in his fierce determination to please..  _ Stop it. _

The tank top tan that brings out the vivid shift in color from a milky white to the lightest possible caramel courtesy of a few days' worth of sun exposure...  _ Conceal, don't feel, Bodt! _

The faintest of galaxies of freckles decorating his sweat-slicked shoulders, the creamy expanse of his lower back lightly painted with delicate tawny peach fuzz that flowed down south and pooled into the small of his back; the final dip right before the ample yet simultaneously subtle curve of his--no, no,  _ NO _ .

This is one of the  _ actual worst _ places to think about this. You do  _ not _ want to waltz in to see Doctor Jaeger with a raging hard-on! Geez, get your head in the game, Marco! What team! Cat wilds! Deep breaths. Think about how badly you want to be on the football team. Think about how awkward it would be to get caught like this by the doctor, or even worse, Mom!  _ Done _ . Problem solved.

Carla clears her throat and finally looks up at me after scanning the packet to make sure I've filled everything out correctly, though before she has the chance to say anything, the door leading to the hall of examination rooms opens to reveal an all-too familiar pair of metallic blue eyes accentuated by a dark red scarf.

"Marco. The doctor will see you now." Thank all the mighty forces above for Mikasa. The welcome distraction helps give me just the right amount of time to regulate my breathing and the frantic thumping of my heart, and I follow her through the doorway with a small relieved smile on my face in greeting. I’m tempted to tell Mom not to get up, but I often forget that the woman is actually related to Sonic the Hedgehog. The sound of her heels clicking and clacking quickly right beside me forces me to accept the fact that she'll be sitting in there with me while the examination takes place. Never have I regretted being such a Momma's boy until this day.

Doctor Jaeger walks into the room Mikasa's escorted us to not three minutes later, greeting my mother and me with a single nod before heading straight to the file Mikasa set on the counter earlier. The first few minutes go by relatively quickly and without incident; I'm weighed and measured, I pee in a little cup, and I get my finger pricked. For a few delusional moments, I allow myself to believe that the subject won't be breached.

Yet... No matter how much I'd like to pretend it's not, I feel like I'm simply being lulled into a false sense of security, and the thought makes me want to cry. I keep up my smile though, and sit down on the patient bed thing that they've got in each examination room. I’m totally ready to answer questions and get booster shots I didn't even know were necessary.

Now under any normal circumstances, I’d grateful for the fact that most doctors like to make small talk with their patients when they're administering vaccines and such to distract them from the mild pains. Right now, however, the gleam from the ugly yellow lighting in the room on Dr. Jaeger's glasses is far from reassuring when he speaks to me while he lays about four different syringes out on top of my file.

I see his eyes flicker to my mother standing beside me, and I really hope he stays quiet about the thing. I visibly tense, which my mother's probably interpreted as me being afraid of the shots, and she reaches up to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. That's not helping me at all.

"So, Marco. You're trying out for.." He trails off, waiting for me to complete the sentence.

"Football."

"Ah, yes. Eren himself is trying out for soccer, you know." He chuckles as he holds one of the syringes up to the light and tests the flow. "He's quite adamant about the sport, though I feel that a large part of his desire to join is simply because of his hatred for that rival team that's always managed to one-up your school's team.. The Titans, right?"

I grimace at the coolness of the antiseptic he applies to my upper left arm and nod as the needle pierces my skin. "Yeah."

"Are any of your other friends trying out for sports?"

"Yeah.. Jean's trying out for football with me.. Most of the others are shooting to join the soccer, baseball, and basketball teams later in the year."

"Jean.. Isn't that the boy Eren's always challenging to silly little scrimmages in everything?"

I suck in a breath; I hadn't even noticed when he'd stuck the second needle into my arm, but there it was, and as quickly as it appeared, it was gone and on its way to the biohazardous waste bin. "Yeah.. They seem like they argue a lot, but they're good friends. They just like to keep up that whole 'frenemies' game for some reason."

According to Jean, it was all for show to get Mikasa's attention way back when. I told him that was the worst possible way to go about getting a girl to notice you as a potential dating partner, but he seemed to think that it was the best idea since sliced bread. Even though he's not after Mikasa's affections anymore, he refuses to let the rivalry act slip up, even for a moment. I still can't quite figure out why, but it's gotten pretty annoying to have to literally carry him away from Eren in the halls before he makes a scene.

The doctor laughs as though he knows something I don't, but before I can call him out on it he's changed the subject and begun applying antiseptic to my other arm. "Yes, Eren’s always had a fiercely competitive nature. He gets it from his mother; of this I'm sure. Now, tell me more about Jean, Marco. All I hear from Eren is that he's okay, but that you know him better than anyone."

I don't like that look in his eyes one bit. "Oh.. Well, we've been best friends for-" my breath hitches when the third needle slides into my skin "-a good five years now? He's just as bad as Eren when it comes to proving he's the best at what he does.. I keep telling him that so much pride's gonna be his fatal flaw, but he won't listen to me."

"Hm.. I know how that is." He grins and goes to retrieve the fourth and final shot, and for a second, I'm confident that I'm in the clear. I've made it. He won't ask me about the thing; not if we continue this line of questioning.

Mom’s hand has moved down to my back, rubbing small, comforting circles into it. I offer her my first genuine smile since we've stepped foot into this place. Seeing the smile she returns lifts an enormous weight from my entire being and I feel as though I can already breathe more easily.

Of course, it was probably those exact thoughts that jinxed my already pitiful luck.

"Mr. Bodt. I noticed something... Interesting while I was looking through your file. You probably already know what I’m referring to." Oh no. Please don't.

I stayed quiet, trying not to stare too hard at the poster of cute ducks on the wall. I guessed it was there to distract people if the small talk didn't work. It wasn't relaxing me one bit.

"Have you been using proper protection?"

Goodbye, cruel world. Tell everyone that Marco Florian Bodt has died. I'm going to move away to another country and change my name and try to get a low-key job flipping burgers or something and _ I can feel Mom's eyes burning holes into the side of my face I'm going to die right here I'm not going to get time to move away oh no _

"..Marco?" The man has the gall to laugh. I’m going to cry.

_ No. _

"Stóirín? Does he mean what I think he.."

_ Nope. _

"I'm simply asking as a precaution, Marco. No need to be flustered. There are plenty of sexually active teens at your age; it's normal! I just need to make sure you're being responsible. I’d also like to recommend that you and your partner get tested, just to be safe."

That poster of ducks suddenly got, like, fifty times more interesting.

"Ah! Marco, is it that young lady friend you've invited over? Mina? No? Is it Sasha? Annie?" Her eyes widen and her voice drops to a stage whisper. “Is it  _ Mikasa _ ?”

_ Oh, Mamaí. If only you knew. _

"Marco, it doesn't matter who you've engaged in relations with, just answer me, alright?" I hear the doctor's voice somehow make its way into my chaotic mind.

I don't even notice when he disposes of the fourth syringe and sticks Spongebob bandages onto each little dot of blood on my arm. I nod absently in response to his inquiries, already fearing the car ride home. And the rest of the day. And the rest of the week. Maybe I can sleep over at Jean's for the rest of my life. That would be nice.

Doctor Jaeger seems to be appeased and he smiles approvingly, turning to my jumpy mother and telling her that we're free to go.

I've never flown out of a building so quickly.

* * *

 

The entire car ride home consists of one very curious Coleen Reilly-Bodt spewing names off the top of her head; all female names, I must add. We skip stopping by Rally’s. I wish we could stop at Rally’s. I really need to stuff my face with some curly fries right now so I have an excuse to keep my mouth shut.

I don't know if I can bring myself to tell her the truth. I've been waiting for the right moment to tell both her and Dad, but the way she keeps making these assumptions is beginning to grate on my nerves of steel. By the time we've pulled into our driveway, I'm about ready to snap. I'm only about thirty seconds from my room, then I’m grabbing my night bag and running to Jean’s place. I can do this. I can hold out just a few more seconds...

"C'mon, Stóiríííííín! You know you can tell your Mamaí anything, right? All of your friends are very lovely, and I wouldn't mind having any of them dating my sweet little boy."

_ Stop it. _

"If you want to keep it a secret from your father, I promise to keep my lips sealed!"

_ I'm going to snap. _

"Marcoooooooo--"

"It's Jean."

I hadn't realized how quiet it had gotten until I released the breath I hadn't known I was holding. Even then, I wasn't aware of just  _ why _ it had suddenly gotten so quiet until I turned and saw my mother's wide hazel eyes boring into my own. I said that out loud.

Screw not cursing in my internal monologues. Fuck my life. Fuck everything.  _ I'm done. _   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm a poop lol


	2. In Which Jean Fears For His Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOHHHHH!  
> Now we hecked up! Now we hecked up! Now we hecked up!  
> We have hecked up now!  
> Now we hecked up! Now we hecked up! Now we hecked up! Now we hecked up!  
> Now we have hecked up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ffs i don't have any excuse for getting this out so late  
>  ~~and it's not even the last fucking part there's more after this i'm screaming~~

Sometimes my stomach is absolutely positive that it's Summer Olympics season and decides to perform top-notch aerial flips and twists all over the fucking place like a prodigal gymnast. Other times, it decides it wants to be a dying star, imploding and becoming a black hole in my abdomen that devours the rest of my internal organs. Right now it's some weird mix of both; I'm pretty sure it's tumbling along to some unidentifiable beat, but I'm also pretty sure it just devoured my liver and, quite likely, one of my kidneys.

I don't usually feel this funky. Few things manage to catch me off guard anymore; when you're friends with such a diverse bunch of shitheads, your parents invest too much time in trying to be caught up to all the latest fads, and you've somehow (???) scored Marco Bodt as your boyfriend, you become immune to most unexpected events.

This time, though...

For fuck's sake, Marco. What?

* * *

 "Jean, I've got to go. Ma's callin' me." Marco's clearly reluctant to end this conversation, but even I heard that most recent bellow. I sigh and give him a crooked grin; he's supposed to be heading to the doctor today, and, to my knowledge, he's got the rest of the day free after his appointment.

"Aight," I snicker at Marco's wince on the screen, "but consider my proposal." He rolls his big brown eyes at me and pulls his foot up onto his desk chair to tie his shoe, and repeats the process with the other one. I don't bother to hide my ogling when he stands with his back to the screen to put his belt on, or when he turns back around to wrap up our Skype call.

"Nothin' to consider. I'll head over after the check-up; I'll ask Ma later. I shouldn't be more than an hour and a half, tops." Marco opens his mouth to say something else, but a war cry (?) followed by loud click-clacking sounds stop him in his tracks. "I-I've gotta go."

I barely get the chance to choke out a "later," between my chuckles before he literally  _dashes_ out of his room without bothering to exit out of the video call.

I hate to see him leave, but I love to watch him go. I shut my laptop and flop back onto my pile of pillows with a sigh and hug the one that has the shirt he wore last time he came over on it as a cover. It's starting to smell more like me and less like him.

Whatever. He's coming over for a sleepover anyway; I'll steal his shirt again this time and give him back this one. _"Sleep"over._ I can feel the lecherous grin on my face spreading already. Bad facial muscles. Stop it. _But I'm excited._ Stop.

He was wearing such nice jeans today. I can't wait to tease him later, get him nice and wet and utterly _wrecked_  before giving him the chance to tear them off--

"Jean-beau!!" Ah, there goes the possibility of any boner-inducing mental fantasies. Thanks, Maman.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" I shout back, not entirely willing to pull my lazy ass out of bed quite yet. Yes, it's almost 11 in the morning, no, I don't give a shit. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for me, the woman most often responsible for tragic boner-deaths slams open the door and waltzes down the stairs into my basement bedroom, totally not eliciting a little shriek from yours truly when I bolt upright. Adelaide Kirschtein's got her chestnut brown hair tied up into some really overly-complicated braid, and she is rocking that dark red sheath dress like it was made for her. She looks really good; she's really going all out for this re--. Oh shit, she's talking.

"--And I want you to pick up some milk and dish soap. Let's see, there was something else..." She muses, short but neatly manicured nails softly clicking against the handrail. I take advantage of her moment of concentration and shove the Marco pillow into the very back of my pillow pile. Another, deeper voice rings out from atop the stairs, saving my mum from her intense state of violently trying to get the last shopping list item off the tip of her tongue.

"Sugar, Sugar." My papa supplies in a disgustingly sweet, sing-song tone (sly bastard), and I make a show of gagging to which Maman raises an eyebrow and shakes her head before shooting a coy smile up the stairs. My parents are hella gross. Stop them 2014. (I conveniently don't think about how Marco and I call each other shitty cutesy names, too whenever we feel particularly lovey-dovey.) Aforementioned papa decides to join Maman at the foot of the stairs and I grimace at the way he wraps his arm around her waist and presses a smooch to her temple like I'm not right in front of them. Don't get me wrong; I'm really happy that my parents have managed to keep their relationship strong for so long and that they are still capable of displays of affection, but shit. Not in front of your teenage son who wants nothing more than to be able to walk around publicly and make the same moves on his bae, please.

I'm called out of my reverie of a perfect world in which I could run around with Marco's hand in my own and make out with him in front of scandalized old ladies when I see both my parents watching me expectantly. I reply with an eloquent, "Hah?" to which they exchange a sideways glance and roll their eyes simultaneously. Fuckin' telepathic communicators.

"Your mama und I asked if Marco will be coming over later." I don't like his tone. He sounds like he knows something I don't. He looks like it too, with the way he's easily tying up his fancy red tie without batting a lash in this apparent impromptu staring contest he's decided to start with me. Either way, there's no use lying, seeing as they'd find out one way or another. My parents and Marco's parents are hella tight. Ever since Marco's family moved here to Trost, everyone kinda just.. Clicked. Or at least, our dads did. Coleen and ma mère have known each other since forever, apparently, and they've got matching tattoos to prove it. I'm not sure how I feel about my boyfriend's mom being my mom's, like, best friend, but I guess I'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Marco's shown no sign of wanting to come out to his parents, much less that he's already dating someone, anytime soon. I'm okay with that. I can wait. I haven't told my parents yet either, anyway.

"Ouais; he's gonna spend th'night. M'assumin' tha's cool?" He nods and turns to walk back up the stairs, hand lingering on Mom's shoulder before his whole body's disappeared from the part of the stairway I can see.

"That's fine Jean-beau, just make sure to go buy what I asked for? There's leftover steak frites from last night in the fridge, and I'm sure you can find something somewhat healthy to prepare for breakfast tomorrow morning." Mum clops towards my bed with her intense beige heels that hurt my soul to look at and stamps a vibrant red lipstick stamp on my forehead before I can swat her away. I grumble in affirmation and pull my blanket up to rub at the smudge she marked me with, sticking my tongue out when she begins walking away with a spirited laugh.

"Maman," I call out as she's already made the trip halfway up the stairs, "have fun."

I don't have to see her face to tell that she's smiling when she responds. "You too, Jean-beau."

* * *

 Mama and Papa are high school sweethearts. It's their twenty-year reunion and their high school's a few towns over (and of course they aren't gonna stay sober so they booked a hotel), so I've got the house to myself. Well, myself and one very dorky, freckled Marco Bodt. I have a little while before Marco shows up, so it'd probably be a good idea to go buy the shit Mum wanted me to get now before I forget.

Wow; I'm actually being kinda responsible for once. _Good job, me._ Thank, me.

I've changed into decent clothes (re: whatever was lying around that didn't smell rank as fuck) and hopped onto my bike, not bothering with a helmet because the drugstore isn't far from here at all, and I can get all the shit from Mom's shopping list there.

I park it and lock it outside, shivering a bit at the burst of fresh air cooling the thin sheen of sweat that'd collected on the back of my neck from the short ride over out in that heat. My mind's on autopilot as I grab a bright red basket and wander the aisles, tossing in what Maman asked for and some other crap I figure Marky-Mark and I could eat while we watch a movie before I strike him with my hella seductive moves. 

It's gonna be so awesome.

Oh hey, for once, I'm gonna go ahead and congratulate myself for hopping on board that train of thought because I've been reminded of a pretty important fact. There's another thing or two on my shopping list I almost forgot that I'd rather not go without.

With a spring in my step I swagger over to the checkout, only to grind to a halt upon seeing who the only available cashier is. Fuck my life.

I'd recognize that buzz cut and those shitty outdated hipster frames anywhere. I forgot that little shit worked here.

Like hell I'm gonna go put the condoms and lube back now, though.

Fuck this store for not having self-checkouts.

Eh, what the hell. Con knows about us anyway.

...He doesn't know we've started fucking, though. As far as he knows, Marco's still a pure freckled angel whom remains untainted by yours truly.

Connie's spotted me. I wonder if Marco's okay with others knowing, because this fucker's gonna blab to Sasha, who's gonna tell Ymir, who's gonna tell everyone else. There is no escape. I almost want to text him about this, but.. You know what? Fuck this. I'm gonna march right up to this short-ass son of a bitch that always smells like Mexican food (this guy's house always smells amazingly delicious) and buy all my shit and leave and set up a movie to watch with my boyfriend.

"Sup, Frenchie?" The cashier twirls his little price gun with too much ease; somebody's clearly had too much time to himself here at the register. Probably got banished here for making a mess somewhere else. I ignore his use of that nickname and set my basket down on the counter.

"Nothin' much. Just a routine shopping trip." I rock back and forth on my heels to the little beeps made by the price gun, pulling my phone out to check the time. Marco said he wouldn't be long. I'm hoping he asks his Mom about coming over while he's at the clinic so I don't have to wait much longer. I hope Jaeger's not at the clinic right now. He'd better keep his grubby paws to himself while--

"Bruh. I don't know why you're glarin' at that gum, but ain't nobody forcin' you ta buy it, y'know. Dunno 'bout these, though."

I direct my glare back up at Connie's shit-eating grin, and that's when I see what he's got in his hands.

Oh please, spare me the embarrassment and just fucking beep it already. Take my money.

"You, uh. Plannin' on takin' someone's freckled purity, my man?"

"Connie."

"You would dare to defile the sanctity of our beloved speckled angel?"

Stop it. Just fucking scan it and let me be. I glare pointedly at the security camera positioned above the register and wonder if whoever could be watching would give a shit if I were to smack this chimp upside the head with the carton of milk I'm trying to purchase among other things. He shrugs and scans the items, tossing them casually into a plastic bag.

"Can I ask you something? It's kinda important. Ya see, I kinda made a bet with Reiner and it's a pretty big pool, so if you could help me out, that'd be great."

It takes a fraction of a second for the implications of what he's gonna ask me to set in.

He'd better not ask me what I think he's gonna ask me. I narrow my eyes at him and he squints back, and we both end up opening our mouths at the same time.

"Would you be interested in donating to the Children's Valley Hospital?"

"M'not telling you who tops; for fuck's sake, Connie!"

Wait, he wasn't gonna...?

Shit. Oops. I hecked up.

There is a horribly eerie silence in the three seconds before I throw my money on the counter, take my bags, and run out of the store. I swear Connie's cackle follows me for the entire ride home.

* * *

 I get home out of breath and sweaty as fuck. Gross. I put everything away (and stash the goods away in my room) before shedding my sweat-sticky clothes and hopping into the shower. A quick glance at my phone informs me that Marco should be here soon, or at least texting me to let me know he's on his way.

I've still got no messages when I get out of the shower, nor when I pull on a clean change of clothes a few minutes later.

If this bruh isn't gonna take initiative, then I will.

 **[Text to: Marko Butt]** **hey where you at**

Marco's pretty shitty with responding to text messages; he's kind of an ass like that. I never noticed it at first, but that's because I'm me and he's always preferred to hang around me for some reason I've yet to figure out. He's super-selective about who he gives his number to, but even then, he rarely answers other peoples' texts. I thought it was just because he always had his phone on silent and that he just didn't check it frequently, but I've learned that he knows full well whenever he's got a text message. He just ignores it. He rarely ever does that to me, though. He does it even less now that we're dating. (Hell; he'll even start text conversations with me on his own, and that's an impressive feat for him.)

It's been thirty minutes, and Marco has yet to respond.

I don't want to sound clingy, but... I'm starting to get a little bit worried.

**[Text to: Marko Butt] are you ok?**

**_[Text from: Marko Butt] Red AA. Leak. Omw4CS._ **

Oh good; at least now I know he's alive. The string of letters is typed out in our code, though, which is a pretty bad sign. We came up with this code ages ago and we've been using it for years, but only whenever some situation seems particularly dire. It's our way of keeping things somewhat private and of conveying our sense of urgency effectively.

We only use it when shit gets real serious.

**_(Red alert. Top secret information has been breached. On my way to meet you as soon as possible. We need to talk.)_ **

...Please don't tell me he knows Connie knows we're fucking. That was really fast.

I'm in trouble, aren't I?

_**[Text from: Marko Butt] SS** _

_**(Open Sesame.)** _

I run to open the door and am nearly literally tackled by one very flushed, panting Marco Bodt. I somehow maneuver to shut the door behind him and pull him to the kitchen bar, getting him some ice and water from the fridge while he struggles to catch his breath. I'm assuming the piece of shit ran (re: fucking sprinted) four miles from his house from mine, seeing as I didn't see any sign of his car or his bike outside, so I'm surprised he hasn't fainted. It's clear he's hitting the tail end of his adrenaline rush, however, when he slumps onto the counter and lets out a really low groan of exhaustion.

"M....ws."

"What?" I set the cup down beside him and take a seat on the stool next to his. He gratefully takes it and tries to drink it all in one go like the big dumb he is-- key word being  _tries_ , because he chokes a bit and I have to scold him for trying to kill himself twice now as far as I know. A few more minutes of silence littered with his deep breaths and more gulps of water and my anxious foot thumping later, and it appears he's just about ready to talk.

I feel he spent more time than necessary recovering. I'm positive he recovered his breath not too long after his second cup of water. He's delaying whatever it is he has to tell me, and that kinda scares me. Marco doesn't often try to avoid talking about something of importance, especially after texting me in fucking code. I wonder what's

"Mom knows about us."

...Are you fucking shitting me?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> end of high school. summer. beginning of college. what is my life  
> (fuq everything)  
> (still tracking fic idnaft in case anybody wants to yell at me  
> plus i hang out at myhairisnatural.tumblr.com a lot if anyone wants to bug me there)


	3. In Which Everybody Cringes A Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I do not condone making out and heading down stairs at the same time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEVERAL MONTHS LATER I RETURN, AND I HAVEN'T RUN ANY EDITING ON THE SECOND HALF OF THIS CHAPTER, SO YEAH  
> Marco's pov!!  
> [oh and there's a POV shift in this chapter! you'll be able to tell when it is and whose POV it is fairly easily, i think.]

It would've made my story more dramatic and exciting to tell if I'd gone and proudly declared that I could tell my mother everything about Jean and myself and done a back-flip out of the car as she wept tears of joy for our union while rainbow fireworks went off in the background. If my father had arrived right then I'd have told him as well in an impromptu musical number. We would've rejoiced in a collective breath of relief that everything was out in the open. No more secrets, all acceptance. If everything had gone peacefully, I'd have called Jean up to come over for a proper family dinner in which we could have held hands and been as openly-affectionate as we so desired in front of my parents until we went to a freeze-screen and faded to black in the middle of some cheesy song like some cheesy feel-good Lifetime movie.

Oh no; what really happened was nowhere near that convenient.

As soon as I'd registered what I'd said aloud and that my mum was sitting there gawking at me, I didn't even get the chance to try to laugh off my slip of the tongue before the edges of my vision became hazy. Or, well, I guess I did kinda try to fix things. My lungs managed to force out a pained wheeze that didn't really sound anything like a chuckle before my eyes rolled back and I fainted right there and then in the passenger seat of Mamaì's Prius.

I never said I was good at facing stressful situations on my own.

* * *

 "-And when I came to later, I was still in the car, but I didn't see Mom anywhere. I ended up throwing open the car door and running the heck outta there without really registering much else other than the fact that Mom knows now. M'sorry." I couldn't face Jean properly right now, not now that I've accidentally partially outed him to my mom in my hasty declaration. My sweaty hands stuck uncomfortably to the marble island top and I kept my eyes trained on the weird way my palms kinda peeled off the dark surface like some kind of sticker. Weird how the sweat was making the surface a sort of dull shiny rather than glossier. Maybe only grease and cleaning supplies made surfaces shinier. I've never really thought about it before.

My boyfriend hasn't said a word. I'm still watching the little white speckles in the dark blue marble. They look like stars, and if I squint hard enough it looks like they twinkle.

I wish I knew what was going through his mind right now. He's been quiet since I mustered the courage to tell him Mom knows, just grunting and fidgeting a bit during my storytelling. Not even the part where I got the half-chub right before seeing the doctor garnered a reaction (and, to be honest, I was expecting a chuckle or a quirk of his thin lips in pride at the very least for getting me flustered without him even being there). It feels like an eternity plus a minute has gone by by the time he shows any signs of life other than his nearly-silent breathing. A slender hand engulfs my own (or at least tries) and squeezes gently. I think I got whiplash for turning to look over his shoulder so quickly. I still can't look at his face, much less look him in the eye.

"Marc," he begins, and clears his throat of a waver. I can't tell if he's laughing or breaking down, but I don't think I want to know regardless. "I.. May or may not've spilled th' beans t' Connie tha' we're.. Y'know." I raise my eyebrows and finally look up at him, but I can't quite place his expression. It's almost pained, but the small sheepish upwards curve his mouth is making gives it a different feel. But what does he mean? Connie knows we're dating already; that's nothing new. One of my brows quirks a little higher than the other (he calls it _The Mom Look_ and insists I've perfected it) in a silent inquiry.

Jean squirms a bit on his stool and shrugs before hanging his head low and mumbling. "..Tha' we're doin' it." Before I can even finish processing what he's just said, he looks up and blurts, "I went out t'buy condoms an' lube 'cus I wasn't sure if you'd remember t'bring any an' I ran out of lube here so I went, right? An' Connie was th' only fuckin' guy mannin' th' cash registers an' 'e asked 'bout them an' I might'a kinda implied that it's not th' first time we've needed those things I think 'cus he was laughin' at me as I ran out of th' store an' now everyone's gonna know 'cus Connie's just like his mom is with gossip an' he'll tell everybody and their mothers an' our mothers an' our privacy is pretty much gone forever so t' be honest I think our moms were gonna end up findin' out soon anyway even if you'd spilled or not."

Oh. Oh. That's... That's certainly not what I was expecting him to say. Not even close. Yet.. The fact that it sounds like we've both had a pretty eventful hour or so, and it's barely one in the afternoon. The thought that the entirety of our relationship that we'd managed to keep under wraps (for how long? Over a year now? Yeah, since freshman year...)  has come tumbling down in a matter of minutes. I cannot believe. Cannot.

System error. Marco.exe has encountered a problem and needs to shut down.

Wait. I did that earlier already. Plus, I don't think Jean would appreciate it much if I passed out however briefly while he looks like he's about to test how much force it'd take to break his skull with the marble top. His hands are both resting in his lap, though they're shaking just slightly. We both hecked up. There isn't really anything we can do about our situation anymore. Everything's out in the open, so we don't really have anything to hide anymore...

We don't really have to hide anymore...

Jean looks up. I've probably said that aloud, because he weakly echoes my statement. His brows (have I mentioned that Jean has the most perfect, on-point eyebrows that I may or may not envy greatly) slowly but surely return to their resting position and his forehead smooths out. "We ain't gotta give a shit 'bout hidin' anythin' anymore.. Marc'!" Before I've time to voice any thoughts, a pair of mildly clammy hands cup my face and pull me forward. I can't help but melt into the relatively chaste kiss if only because it's a wonderful respite from thinking so hard I've given myself a headache, and I can feel relief rolling off of Jean in waves, so all in all, it was very good. Ten out of ten. It only lasted few seconds before I separated us for a breath. Jean doesn't seem to approve of me breathing, though, because he pulls me back just as quickly as I'd moved away for a suddenly less-lips-more-tongue-action-filled kiss.

It's frantic, kinda sloppy, and I'm pretty sure we've got more of each others' spit in our mouths than our own. Seven-point-eight out of ten; too much water. Catching on to Jean's intents wasn't a difficult task at all, because I couldn't exactly say that we weren't on the exact same wave-length right now without being a filthy liar. We could think about our plan of action after a quick round. It’d probably clear our minds. To be honest, we're both probably just too horny for our own goods. It comes with being a teenager with raging hormones and actually having an outlet for sexual frustration; thank goodness for my very-willing boyfriend.

I swear I wasn't actually this bad before Jean and I became intimate. We've fooled around plenty, but we didn't actually.. Do it for the first time until two and a half weeks ago.

That’s why the whole dilemma at Doctor Jaeger’s happened -- nope, nope, we’re staying far away from that right now. That little incident is supposed to be buried deep beneath the foggy haze that is Jean tugging me off the stool without moving his lips within a few millimeters from my own at any point in time. I follow like there’s a strong magnetic force between us, stumbling as we kick our shoes off and proceed to nearly trip over each others’ discarded chucks. High, breathless chuckles mingle with low husky laughter as we tug at each others’ shirts while trying not to trip on our way down the stairs that lead to his basement bedroom.

If Jean almost fell over backwards while he was pulling my shirt over my head, I didn’t see him. I really didn’t. Couldn’t. If we’re being technical. I really couldn’t see anything until my shirt was flung out the door. We didn’t bother shutting it since we were supposed to be home alone for at least twenty-four hours.

I’d like to think that the blonde wrestling with my belt buckle is just as far gone as I am. It certainly seems like it when I pull his own tank top up and toss it back like a newlywed bride tosses her bouquet and catch a glimpse of his blown-out pupils making his honey eyes so dark I swear I’m looking into a pot of caramelized sugar.

Yeah, I’m an honors student. I get good grades in English. Doesn’t mean I’m a poet, though. Sad, but true.

It feels like forever before we reach the bottom of the stairs, but the electrifying sensation of his hands roaming my back and chest while he licks and nips at any of my skin that he can get his mouth on is an eternity I would ecstatically embrace. I’m so glad it’s still summer vacation, because we can pretty much mark each other up as much as we want beneath our shirts (no neck, of course; it’s way too hot to wear scarves to hide neck-hickeys) since we don’t have to deal with crowded boys’ locker rooms and nosy stares. We’ve got no reason to go around shirtless anywhere anyway, what with the few pools not being filled because of the drought. We’re golden. Still, with tryout week coming up, we should probably stop seeing who can leave the most red and purple splotches on the others’ torsos.  Not right now, though. Maybe later. Right now I’m a bit too focused on trying to remember how my legs work so I can move us closer to Jean’s nest.

That boy doesn’t have a bed. He has a single mattress on a frame buried under way-too-many pillows. Somehow I manage to convey my urgency (I have to physically pry him off my collar bone; he has some strange fascination with those for some reason) and we waddle over to the bed. Unfortunately, I guess our depth perception sucks a lot while we’re sucking a lot of face because Jean pulls me back with him too soon and he lands right on the edge of the foot of the bed length-wise and rolls right off. Where does that leave me? On top of my wheezing nerd, and not in the hot way you see in cliche romantic anime scenes. Nope; I am quite literally squishing him. Incredible. I’m fairly certain that the wind was knocked right out of both of us from the impact. Good thing his floor is carpeted.

After being prodded in the side several times I roll over and off the body I’m kinda crushing, grunting as my back hits the plush green carpet with a dull thud.

For the next few minutes we simply lie with only our chests heaving, breathing heavily in futile attempts to get enough air in our lungs for our brain to continue functioning properly. The first sound to punctuate the relative silence is Jean’s throaty laugh, which starts out as a small rumble in his chest until it becomes full-blown and wonderful.

I really love the sound of Jean’s laugh. I also really love the way his eyes shut and the corners of his lips quirk up when he really lets mirth shine through his features.

Of course, watching him have a good belly laugh while he’s shirtless is a bonus; those tummy muscles should be illegal.

“We can still get down an’ dirty on the floor, y’know.” My eyes flick back up to the smirk playing on Jean’s face once he noticed me devouring his form. This one has no shame nor patience, I swear. A chuckle of my own mingles with the stuffy aura that surrounds our bodies on the floor.

“Or we could wait a bit. I dunno ‘bout you, but I think a bit of me died jus’ now.” I look up at the ceiling, shaking my head at the huff and tell-tale shuffles of a sulking Jean sitting up and moving to straddle my waist. I manage to ignore him for all of two seconds before nimble digits splay across my stomach.

There’s no time for me to save myself before the fiend attacks, mercilessly digging his fingers into that spot right under my ribs that he knows is ridiculously sensitive. I try swatting his hands away, but that doesn’t go as well as planned, so I try to shield myself as well as I can instead. I’d try to kick him, but really all that would accomplish is me maybe hitting his back with my knees, but probably not hard enough for him to stop.

“Jean! S-Stop--! Stop, stop, oh, ha ha ha, quit it!” I gasp for air between protests and laughter, eventually resorting to screaming his name in hopes that he stops for fear that neighbors will hear and think I’m being murdered. I don’t think it’s working. 

* * *

When I got the text from Connie telling me to “come pick up & drop off th shit ur muffin cousin left on th register counter, farlan,” I honestly didn’t feel like following through. If Jean’s fucking stupid enough to leave shit at the register after paying for it, he deserves to suffer the consequences just as anybody would. Though, to be honest, most of the reason for my hesitance to deliver was really just because I didn’t want to face the wrath of Tante Adelaide if she happened to be home. I’m still certain she’s not gotten over the time Izzie and I accidentally locked Jean in the hallway closet while we were playing hide and seek and neglected to acknowledge his angry shouting devolving into pleas for help.

This was about ten years ago. I’m fairly certain Jean himself doesn’t even care anymore.

Whatever. I’ve got nothing better to do. Izzie fucking procrastinated on her final essay and she’s trying to blaze through it right now, and I’m not stupid enough to try to stick around to distract her from actually doing what she’s supposed to for once. Just one more week; that’s what’s keeping her afloat right now. The life of a college undergrad is a true struggle.

“Iz, I’m headin’ out. Don’t burn the apartment down while I’m out.”

“No promises!” The cheeky grin she tosses my way brings a smile to my own lips. Fuckin’ nerd.

“S’long as you finish your essay first and get my computer outta the building before you light it up, I might look the other way.” I call over my shoulder, shutting the door and pocketing my keys. The drive to the drugstore is short thanks to the lack of traffic out; that eases my annoyance a bit. It’s always pleasant to hop onto my lime-green Kawasaki and totally dominate the road. I don’t even care if I look like I’m overheating with my obligatory-motorcycle-riding leather jacket on over my tank top.

Of course, I’m not gonna deny that the breeze from the air conditioning in the store flooding through the automatic door feels like the parting of the Red fucking Sea up in this bitch. Damn wonderful.

“Church!”  I turn in the direction of the registers, catching sight of the short loser that dragged me out here waving a plastic bag around. “Ya boy forgot his Dawn and Ritz Crackers.” He keeps talking, something about how he’d have delivered himself but he spent his break earlier arguing with like four people on Snapchat about whether donuts were superior to bagels or not and something about a great freckled tragedy. I tuned him out, snatching the forgotten goods and walking out before he talked my ears off, because I don’t really care about the results of that discussion. Within another few minutes I’m at the Kirschteins’ front door, digging up the spare key in the bottle glued to the bottom of that funky walnut-shaped rock and letting myself in.

It really didn’t take long to notice something was up. I mean, the Mega Man shirt lying not far from one of the kitchen bar stools was pretty strange. I know Jean isn’t a Mega Man kind of guy, so he’d never…

Further inspection reveals a shitty hipster tank top that I know for a fact belongs to my hot-headed cousin in a small heap in the doorway framing the stairs to his basement. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. I set the bag I brought in on the counter and arm myself with my phone, opening up the camera app to collect blackmail materials. I tackle the stairs one step at a time, holding my breath and straining to hear whatever’s going on down there. It’s strangely quiet, and honestly, that can mean any number of things. Upon reaching the last three steps I pause.

“Love you, Babe.”

There it is. I definitely heard that. Another step down. I press my body against the wall facing away from them so they can’t see me right away, assuming they’re where I think they are.

“Love you too.”

Is that..? That sounds a lot like… What?

Another step down. I peek my phone right around the corner, snapping several consecutive photos of something I can’t really say I expected, but at the same time it didn’t surprise me all that much. But the fact that it didn't surprise me surprises me, so in the end I am still surprised. Um?

I just fucking took like twenty pictures of my shirtless cousin being straddled and kissed by his also shirtless best friend. I can't resist the urge and peek over while my phone's still aimed at the pair just so I can say that I saw it with my own eyes.

Jean’s looking in this direction. I believe this is my cue to exeunt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk when I'll get the next chapter out and I can't make any promises but I can say that the only reason this got done is because I was procrastinating on my finals essays  
> i still track and occasionally post in the tag fic: idnaft  
> this chapter is dedicated to sempai letsgetfricative (ricekrispyjoints on tumblr)  
> bless

**Author's Note:**

> wow i'm sorry the ending is super rushed but that'S BECAUSE IT'S NOT OVER YET  
> i want to give this maybe one or two more chapters  
> i really just wanted to post this now and see what feedback i get and then get the rest done later  
> uh. ye.  
> marco's middle name was also spur of the moment as was this entire thing don't look at me  
> [i have a blog; marcobodtshusband.tumblr.com uh. ye.]


End file.
